The Log
by streco
Summary: The gang gives Danny a laptop for his birthday for the off-days when he's particularly hard to keep occupied, and he begins a journal. Complete humor.
1. Obama Face Cake

This idea hit me like a fucking freight train and I had to do it. Warnings: language, Danny's random stupidity that I pulled out of my ass. Enjoy :D

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The Log

* * *

_October 20th_

**0906 Hours**

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ME.

Danny J. Messer here, on my new nifty little laptop-computer-thing.

Let me explain.

So the entire team decided to pitch in and get me a mini-laptop (it's called _EEE _something, which hopefully is not an acronym eastern equine encephalitis or whatever that shit is in this case) that doesn't hold anything but like word documents and an Internet connection. Which is totally cool by me. They said something about me having hyperactive issues and never taking my meds, which made me ask, "What meds?"

Like really? What the hell.

They got me this thing for the days when maybe we don't have any bodies to rip apart or guns to shoot, so I can remain occupied and refrain from playing Truth or Dare with the lie detector. Or creating random bodies on Sid's special 3-D hologram thing and ripping them apart.

The most kickass part of this is that I can be all gossipy and write down scandalous things that I notice, which admittedly is a lot. It's impossible to _not _hear everything when you have ADHD—I'm in so many places at onces that I hear soooo much stuff it's ridiculous.

This thing is insane—military time? _Really? _Bad joke, Mac. Bad, bad joke.

Oh, hold on, they're coming in with a cake and Sid is singing really loudly. Maybe he's drunk.

**9:30 AM**

Conclusion: yes, Sid is definitely drunk. Who gives a man alcohol before noon?

They had Adam, King of the Awkward Lab Geeks (a role generously given up by Sheldon), carry the cake in, which makes me question what sort of narcotic drugs they were up to now. I'm not sure if Adam even has toes. The poor guy has the worst luck ever. He trips over molecules.

So of course, upon walking over the threshold of my office (which bears absolutely zero difference in level from the hall—no step up, no ramp, _nothing_) he stumbled forward and launched the cake directly at the Obama poster very close to my right ear. A candle actually pole vaulted into my ear drum and then stuck to the pastry covering Obama's face.

Flack fell over. I feared for the man's life. I'd always heard the phase _scream with laughter_, but never actually saw it in real life.

Mac, who only smiles unless Stella's at his immediate side, put on his _sigh,-I-am-a-Marine-therefore-am-so-much-more-coordinated _and practically tap danced over to the scene of the crime, inspecting it shortly.

Stella snickered. "Your deduction?"

He smiled. "Cause of death—Adam's two left feet."

Everybody thought that was real funny. It was really a shitty joke though.

I burst into laughter anyway. "BAHAHAHAH, MAC, YOU ARE ONE FUNNY SON OF A BITCH."

Everybody shut up at that, but Flack continued to choke up his lungs with hysterics. I made a mental note to kick him later.

So now I'm sitting here seeing how many times I can spin in my chair without falling over. So far I've made 124, but then I hit the desk and screamed a few inappropriate things at the top of my lungs, which made Mac come in and—get this—rap my knuckles with a ruler.

Ahahahaha, whoever raised that man was a nun.

Now the smell of the Obama-face-cake is getting to me. It's an ice cream cake, but the way it's melting off his face is kind of making me hot.

**9:36 AM**

I just called Lindsay in and asked her if this was normal.

Apparently not.

**9:40 AM**

I wonder what it tastes like.

It's soooo beguiling.

That was a vocab word in my senior year of high school. My teacher kept talking about Circe from _The Odyssey_ when she said it. I thought _The Odyssey _was the biggest piece of literary shit every omitted from the ass of the Greek language. All I learned from it was that Zeus got around the block, up the street and downtown at least four times in his existence.

Also, Hermes is the god of gay porn.

I remember I told Stella this and she got all defensive. "I'm Greek, you know!"

I bet if she had a MySpace, her heroes section would be like, "HERMES, THE GOD OF GAY PORN HEART HEART HEART, ME LOVES ME SOME ODYSSEUS, MMMM GET ME SOMMA THAT"

Maybe not. Stella seems like the kind of chick who's all chill at work and then opens the door when she gets home and has a bunch of like crazy shit—African tribal music and she performs like Purple Rain to her hypothetical cat when it snows out and shit.

**9:53 AM**

THIS CAKE IS MAKING ME GO BANANAS.

OH, MY GOD. HOW CAN SOMETHING DEAD SMELL SO GOOD.

**10:07 AM**

I just walked into the lab and strangled Adam for a few seconds. He had no idea what the fuck was going on, but I got a lot out of it. It made me feel better.

Of course, I got back in and the Obama cake is staring at me.

**10:21 AM**

I can't take it.

I'm doing it.

**10:55 AM**

What the hell dude. I can't even get a bit of privacy in this damn office, FOR REALZ.

So I went to walk out the door to get some water or something, and that was when the smell just took me over. I turned around and literally just catapulted my torso at the Obama poster, doing a chest bump with him. Cake splattered into my face in slow motion but OH MY GOD IT WAS HEAVEN.

I just basically attacked it with my tongue, licking my thirty-second birthday off of the President of the United States of America. (THAT IS SUCH A FUNNY SENTENCE IN CONTEXT AHHAHAHA)When I was done I turned around and Flack was standing there in the doorway, looking too hysterical to even laugh. He simply sank to the floor, tension shooting out from him like a fucking laser beam. Then:

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH"

Mac must've worn his jet pack loafers because he was at the door in a second, so I dropped to the floor and started caressing the rug so he wouldn't see my cake-infested chest. "FLEAS," I cried helplessly, trying to make shit up. "WE HAVE FLEAS, QUICK, MAC, GO BUY SARGEANT'S SHAMPOO."

Get this—he took off down the hall, leaving a fucking dust cloud behind him. I joined in laughing with Flack then, just because it was funny as hell.

**11:30 AM**

SHIT DUDE

I DON'T HAVE A CHANGE OF SHIRT.

**12:17 PM**

Had to wear Lindsay's spare MAROON ("NO, DONALD, IT IS NOT PINK" is the phrase of the day today) turtle neck sweater that makes me look like an Olympic swimmer in the shoulders. Honestly. MAN SHOULDERS MUCH. And I should be flattered because I am a man, but I'm NOT.

**12:22 PM**

Just fell off the spinny chair again, FUCK

**12:42 PM**

Gotta go, Dead Guy Alert. Almost told Stella about flea problem.

Value life more than Mac's awesomely scary dedication.

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ahahahah, you have no idea HOW MUCH FUN this is to write. I know they're all OOC--great thing is, I don't care. :D


	2. Los Jeans

_October 21st_

**11:42 AM**

CRAZY INSANE-ASS SHIT IS HAPPENING.

Do you think that would be hyphenated? Unfortunately, insane-ass doesn't show up as a word on this stupid spell check, and Google certainly did not enjoy my foul language.

But anyway, we decided to start a new trend—official "dress-down" day. Which was pretty easy for me... I never really dress up, but who cares.

BUT LISTEN:

Mac came in wearing JEANS.

JEANS. _LOS JEANS. YANG JEANS. LES JEANS. DIE JEANS. O JEANS. FARMARIHOUSUJEN. BIR KOT PANTALON. _

Or as Stella may say, _το τζιν_!!! Or she could say, _I JEANS_, because she's trilingual.

It's almost the same in every language... except for Finnish. And the one about pantalons. But regardless, MAC TAYLOR IN JEANS?

I had to go lie down. _Những jeans_! Plus Mac Taylor! Not even a calculator could make sense out of this.

After I cleared my head, I went back into the hall to find his office and ask him what the fuck was happening to the universe, when I caught sight of Flack.

FLACK WAS WEARING SWEAT PANTS.

AND SNEAKERS.

SNEAKADORAS.

He was in Mac's office (ahaha... Mac and Flack) and they were talking, looking suspiciously out of the corners of their eyes. I pushed the door open, my mouth still gaping. Mac. Jeans. Flack. Sweats. _Sneakers_.

"We didn't hire anyone new," Mac was saying, shifting his eyes creepily. "Are you _sure_?"

"Mac, she was walking away from me. A few inches shorter than Stella, pin straight hair. She didn't turn around but I've never seen anyone like that, ever, in here. She went into your office and took Stella's case file!"

"Flack, you're imagining things."

"Why would I be imagining things, Mac?!"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE WEARING SNEAKERS," I blurted loudly, and then covered my mouth. "Sorry."

Mac gave me The Look. I cowered.

"I'm sure it's someone we know, maybe she just looked different today."

The irony set in then.

"It's just _dress-down _day, how different can someone look, Mac?"

The door opened from behind me, and I turned around.

I'm pretty sure my chin hit the floor and I nearly passed out.

STELLA?!

She walked in, not making eye contact with anyone. She wasn't wearing heels—I think it was the first time I'd ever seen her without them—so she fell shorter than Mac. OH, ANOTHER THING—HER HAIR WAS STRAIGHTER THAN I AM.

Mac's eyes went wide, wider, widest. Flack was caught between a laugh and a scream of terror.

_**WHAT THE HELL**_

HTML was necessary to help captivate the oddity of this.

Stella picked up a file and walked out, oblivious to our fright. Nobody breathed.

Then, Flack: "_What the hell?_"

I decided I needed to get out of there then. Stella in flats with straight hair? Mac _în blugi_, Flack NOT in a suit? Things were going to start imploding and I needed to get out of there before everything turned into a giant black hole and sucked reality away.

I became frightened when I had to question whether or not Sid would even _wear _clothes.

So now I'm hiding out in my office (which still smells like a bakery exploded), watching as Hawkes goes back and forth wearing a tee shirt and khaki shorts.

The world is ending.

**12:07 PM**

Okay, so I translated "the jeans" into Hungarian on the nifty translator, and it came out as "A farmer." What the hell's up with that?

Tomorrow I'll walk in: "Hey Mac, I'm wearing a farmer."

When Adam walks by, I'll tell him I like his farmer.

**12:30 PM**

In Maltese (which I thought was a dog, NOT a language) it says l-jeans. There's those damn hyphens again.

**12:32 PM**

Do you think you can major in the art of hyphenating words and phrases?

I definitely would.

**12:44 PM**

Okay, so Adam definitely didn't get the farmer thing.

"What farmer?"

"It's 'the jeans' in Hungarian."

"...that doesn't make sense," he responded. "You understand that, right?"

"Um..."

"Jeans can mean different things in different locations and cultures. Here, they're a type of denim pant, but in, say, Hungary, they may be a farmer. Therefore, the translation tells you this."

SIIIIGH.

"Yes, but we're not in Hungaria. If a Hungarian chick walks up to you and says, 'Aaalllo,'" I created an accent, "'I aaaam wearing sommmma theeeese denim jeeeaansssss,' it means pants here. In her land it might mean a farmer."

"If a Hungarian chick walks up to me and talks to me, I'm not gonna care what she's wearing."

didn't exactly comprehend the meaning of this this, so I just shouted, "ADAM, STOP COMING ON TO ME, GOD," and ran the hell outta there.

**1:09 PM**

STELLA JUST SPOKE TO ME.

Her hair was so... _shiny_, it was insane. It kept getting caught in the light and like, reflecting shit. I thought I could see my own face in it, so I started making goofy gestures and she was getting all pissy about that.

"DANNY," she breathed angrily. "You may THINK the case from yesterday is shut, but we still have evidence to process. Are you listening to me speak?"

"I'M SORRY, STELLA, BUT YOU REALLY CANNOT DO INTERESTING SHIT WITH YOUR HAIR AND EXPECT ME TO BE ABLE TO CONVERSE INTELLIGENTLY WITH YOU. WITHOUT WARNING YOU COME IN WITH THIS CRAZY SHIT GOING ON WITH YOUR HAIR AND IF YOU EXPECT US TO JUST RIDE IT OUT, YOU HAVE DEFINITELY GOT ANOTHER THING COMING. AND ALSO, YOUR ROOTS LOOK LOVELY AND YOU HAVEN'T EVEN GOT SPLIT ENDS, WHAT DID YOU PUT IN YOUR HAIR TO MAKE IT NOT FRIZZ UP? IT SEEMS TO BE DRIZZLING A BIT TODAY," I finished in a loud voice.

From down the hall somewhere, Adam shouted, "CUPCAKE!"

There was silence after that, a lot of it. Mostly awkward, too.

"Danny?"

"YES."

"... Danny."

"Oh, sorry. Yes?"

"Go lie down."

So I did. Again. Except, this laptop isn't balancing on my knees correctly so I'm half on the couch, half slanted to the floor where it's sitting.

**2:28 PM**

This place is SO FUCKING BORING when no one's dead, seriously. Stella officially closed the case—she and Mac lovingly bitched out the guy who killed the other guy's nephew-in-law, all the while flirting up a fucking hurricane—while Hawkes, Lindsay, Flack, Adam and I tried to arrange a quiet game of Apples to Apples.

Which is, of course, the best game ever to exist. Ever.

We made two of our own new noun cards—one said **MAC!!!** in huge letters, the other said Stella's hair in smaller, less hilarious letters.

Of course, first round, the adjective is "senseless" and Hawkes instantly plays the Helen Keller card. We laughed for about fifteen minutes. The last time we played, I used Helen Keller with "touchy feely" and it was funnier... at least to me.

Somewhere, "old and cranky" came up and Flack put down **MAC!!!** and we laughed again.

"Armed and dangerous"? Stella's hair.

So, so many more good times, but there's not enough time to list them all. The only thing we learned is that Lindsay absolutely sucks at this game, because she actually put down logical shit. "Sad" came up and she put Challenger Explosion down (which should only be reserved for extremely funny cases!!!) and was angry when "Rosie O'Donnell" won.

Sigh. Stella wants to go out to dinner later, so I guess I should go pick out some nice clothes. I'll give you the 411 about what goes down tomorrow.

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The Apples to Apples thing, yes, is random, but it's my favorite game of all time so suck on that.

I have so much fun writing this. I'm sorry if you dont' think its funny, cause I really do XD

btw; anybody else absolutely hate fanfic's weird stint of sucking? cause i did.


	3. PLAIGARIZERS HEART HEART 11ONE

so uhm basically here's the 411 on shit

a) yes i AM planning on updating this 4realz soon, i've just been uber busy you have to understand... i'm in a show for the summer and i have a life on top of it too. but i just reread this and i loled at myself, which is always reason for updation.

b) an anonymous reviewer informed me i'd been copied and i really wish they weren't anonymous cause i want to thank them a BAJILLION times. (THANK YOU SO MUCH LIKE REALLY YOU HAVE NO IDEA. im sooo glad someone told me). plaigarizing is NOT COOL. i wasn't able to see the lj -- it mustve been deleted? i'm not familiar with lj so ... idk -- but like, i wasn't even flattered that i'd been copied. ... okay i guess i was a little bit but i was mostly just FUCKIN HEATED that someone would do that. seriously? i fuckin wrote this. from my own head. i'm proud of it. like ... don't take credit for it, what the hell do you get out of it? "O YA DOOD I COULD COPY THIS FRUM SOMEONE ON FF LOL IM TH3 MAN"

... nope

c) uhhh anybody else see the season finale?

GET IT, MAC N STELLA HOLLAAA  
and um wtf who else is gonna die? F U jess

*

that is all. thanks for reading, sorry for the false alarm, whoever plaigarized can GTFO with liza minelli, glory to god in the highest

love you people  
or, the ones who aren't plaigarizers  
steph.

(review w/ your thoughts? anybody with me on all this crazy shiz? or you can just be angry for the almost-update... srsly, im sorry. i still love you guys though :D)


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